Ghost

Abandoned halls
Graffiti marked walls
Desecration of my familiar

The dust doesn’t move
when I enter a room
as if I’m not even there

My hands are always cold
transluscent to behold
I long for the thrum of a pulse

Please, someone look at me
and when you do, don’t flee
I miss the stares of the living

I’m lost in this haze
doomed to repeat my final days
like a hand upon a clock, forever rotating